The roar begins in the early morning on a hot day in June up in the Wine Country. It rolls through the Sonoma Valley and shakes the leaves in the vineyards. Forget about traffic. No one is moving for miles. They are on their way, more than 100,000 strong, headed for that sound, the awesome rumble and whine of a 750 horsepower engine running flat out.

Listen closely - it's the sound of the future.

It's time to wake up and smell the high octane. The good ol' boys of stock car racing are bringing their "Days of Thunder" to a city - and television set - near you. The Chevys, Fords, Pontiacs and Dodges of the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing Inc. (NASCAR) are suddenly the hottest rides in the U.S. of A.

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"You know, 10 or 15 years ago NASCAR wasn't even on the radar screen," says Tim Sullivan, an economist at Southern Illinois University-Edwardsville, who writes frequently on the sport. "At that time the NFL was No. 1, baseball was No. 2, and it was a toss-up whether the NBA or the NHL would jump up and challenge. You might have gotten more votes for golf or tennis than NASCAR. Nobody saw this coming."

They see it now. In the second year of a $2.9 billion TV contract with NBC, Fox and Turner networks, NASCAR ratings surpassed everything but professional football. Total fan viewership last season reached 75 million, and Moody's Investors Service has rated NASCAR as the second most financially sound major pro sport after football. That's ahead of baseball, the NBA and professional hockey. NASCAR is a breakout sports sensation.

It is also - let's just come right out and say it - the whitest sport in America. The drivers are white, the pit crews are white and it has become a cliche to note that at most races, Confederate flags outnumber African American fans. For good or bad - and we'll discuss that - at a time when professional sports seems to be embracing hip-hop culture, NASCAR is heading in precisely the opposite direction.

"We're blue collar and we've got good family values," says longtime NASCAR driver and TV commentator Darrell Waltrip. "We're what people want to see from athletes."

Perhaps, but could there be an undercurrent of racism to NASCAR's popularity? Consider, 4 out of 5 NBA players are African American, 67 percent of NFL players are minorities, and last season, 23 percent of major league baseball players were born in Spanish-speaking countries (an increase of 40 percent from 1989). All of those sports, except football, are experiencing a dip in popularity. Meanwhile, the conspicuously white NASCAR is on an unprecedented run up the profit chart.

NASCAR officials are acutely aware of the perception and are eager to talk about finding "the Tiger Woods of racing." At the start of last year's racing season, the sport began what it calls the NASCAR Diversity Initiative and hired a woman named Dora Taylor to head up the enterprise. Taylor's previous assignment was to help Denny's restaurants dig out from under several discrimination lawsuits.

Critics may doubt the sincerity, but there is no questioning the motive. There's money to be made.

"We need diversity," says H.A. "Humpy" Wheeler, CEO of Speedway Motorsports and president of the famed Charlotte Speedway. "How are we going to be popular in Southern California without a Hispanic driver?"

Stock car racing in Hollywod? Don't bet against it. The simple fact is, NASCAR is a flag-wavin' (sometimes Confederate), fender-rubbin, death-defyin' phenomenon. And it's not just for Bubba anymore.

"We used to get the guy who worked in the plant," says Wheeler, who goes all the way back to the days of Edward "Fireball" Roberts. "Now we're getting the guy who runs the plant and the guy who owns it."

There's more: Pop diva Britney Spears is hammering out the details for her part in a NASCAR movie. NASCAR driving champ Jeff Gordon hosted "Saturday Night Live." And former Super Bowl quarterbacks Troy Aikman and Roger Staubach have announced plans to form their own racing team.

Any more influential personalities, perhaps? Certainly. Tom Ridge, director of Homeland Security, was spotted at a race last year. President George Bush made tempestuous 2002 driving champion Tony Stewart the first Winston Cup winner to be invited to the White House, citing the "prized voter profile." Speaking of voters, the brain trust for presidential hopeful John Edwards of North Carolina insists it is going to tap into "NASCAR Democrats."

"Yeah, well," drawls Waltrip, "They may want to rethink that one. I believe he'll find that most NASCAR people are Republicans."

Or not. If there is anything that has startled the experts about NASCAR, it is the way it's starting to cut across demographics. NASCAR viewership is up 19 percent, to 75 million, from 2001. Impressive, but consider that the same viewership quadrupled since 1980.

But that's not what has made advertisers sit up and take notice. A full 40 percent of that audience is women, a demographic other sports can only envy. It's also why those big, macho cars roaring around the track are decked out in the colors of laundry soap, breakfast cereals, and what has to be considered the ultimate in fast food.

"My first NASCAR race was in Charlotte in 1991," says Steve Page, president and general manager of Infineon Raceway (formerly Sears Point) in Sonoma. "I will never forget that there was a woman there dressed as an enormous box of Tide detergent. It was an education."

And then there are the hip, coffeehouse types.

Local filmmaker John Lasseter has won two Academy Awards for his work as director on "Toy Story,"

"A Bug's Life," "Monsters Inc." and other projects for Pixar Animation Studios in Emeryville. Last year, according to the company proxy statement, Lasseter earned more than $7.1 million in salary and bonuses and recently purchased a Sonoma winery.

But he's also such a die-hard NASCAR guy that he has his own stock car - really - and hot laps it around the track in Sonoma.

"We did a promotion in 1998 at the Atlanta 500," Lasseter says. "Johnny Benson's Cheerios car was painted like 'Woody' (from "Toy Story") and Kyle Petty Jr.'s car was 'Buzz Lightyear.' The heads of Disney bought me the show version of the Cheerios car."

How'd he become a fan? Simple. He went to a race and was standing near the starting line when the engines shook the earth.

"When that green flag goes down it's like the breath is sucked out of you," he says. "There is something so unique and magical about seeing it in person. It is like a carnival. I never understood the theater of it. It's big, heavy and loud."

But Why Here?

In some ways, the Bay Area is the test tube for it all. There is no more unlikely place for the rise of a Southern-based, self-proclaimed "redneck" recreation than sophisticated San Francisco. Sure, every major sport would like to have a presence in the fifth-largest population center in the United States, but isn't NASCAR a better fit somewhere more removed than the Napa- Sonoma vineyards?

"It probably didn't seem like a very good idea at the time," says Waltrip. "But part of the (sponsorship) deal with Winston was we had to have a race on the West Coast."

So, because no high-speed racing oval existed, one was dropped down here in 1989. The race itself was a strange hybrid in which the drivers horsed their big, lumpish sedans up and down the twisty, hilly road course of what was then Sears Point. It looked like elephant ballet.

But to the surprise of nearly everyone, it has turned into a traffic- clogging, campground-filling sensation - a Wine Country Woodstock. When the Dodge/Savemart 350 happens at Infineon Raceway (June 22), a little city springs up in the RV parking lot, complete with a temporary supermarket.

"It's like North Carolina has been plopped down in the Wine Country for a week," says Lasseter.

"We don't release attendance figures at the track," says Page, "but you can say we get well over 100,000 for the weekend. Nothing else is even close. NASCAR is definitely the big dog."

Jeff Parr, a letter carrier in the Napa-Sonoma area, is the classic born- again Bay Area NASCAR disciple.

"A buddy took me to the racetrack," Parr says. "It is kind of like when you watch the ballgame on TV you don't get the excitement. At the race, even the colors are brighter. Now I have to take my vacation time to get up there. I take a week off for NASCAR every year."

It works both ways. The good ol' boys settle into the good ol' life while they're here. For at least some years, superstar driver Gordon has stayed at the trendy French country Inn Auberge du Soleil in Rutherford. Then he avoids all that pesky traffic by taking a helicopter to the track.

However, don't think that NASCAR sees this as a pleasant little vacation. At a winter meeting, it was made clear that priority No. 1 for the sport will be the track here and in other nontraditional, non-Southern states.

"We started out as a regional sport, like hockey," says Wheeler. "Now we are national. We need to work on the top 10 markets. The one area we still need to be in is New York." Which is unlikely, considering the space limitations and cost of land near Manhattan.

But in the past couple of years, stock-car tracks that have opened in Las Vegas, Kansas City and Chicago have produced nothing but money and good news. The first race at the Chicagoland track drew 21 million TV viewers (the highest NASCAR audience ever was 25 million), and the Kansas 400, which premiered in 2001 sold all 75,000 seats six months in advance.

What about the Diversity Problem?

But with the national spotlight comes some unwanted attention. It has been noted more than once that there is only one African American driver, Bill Lester, in any of the three NASCAR divisions, and he drives in the much-less- visible Craftsman Truck Series, where competitors race pickup trucks. It also has to be said that NASCAR doesn't have a sparkling history of integration.

Only one black driver has ever won a top NASCAR race. It happened in 1963, when Wendell Scott beat the field in a 200-mile race. But, apparently, officials were concerned about how the mostly white crowd in Jacksonville, Fla. , might react to a black man as the winner.

Instead of awarding the trophy to Scott, Buck Baker was declared the winner.

Then, after the crowd left, a two-hour "review" was conducted, a "scoring error" was discovered, and Scott was declared the winner - to empty grandstands.

Is that a regrettable glimpse into what it was like in the old South or a hidden undercurrent that exists to this day? The jury is still out. This is definitely a sport in transition.

"My theory is that 50 percent of NASCAR fans are from the old school," says Sullivan, who not only writes about the sport but attends races. "You've got the good ol' boys with the Confederate flags, T-shirts and tattoos. And then there's the new breed, the other 50 percent, holding white-collar jobs."

And when those two groups meet in the grandstands, it can make for an interesting cultural experiment. Lasseter, the Bay Area filmmaker, recalls a pilgrimage back to the famous Charlotte track. Although he watched most of the race from the owner's box, he was also escorted into the vast infield and taken to a small rise known proudly as "Redneck Hill."

"They introduced me to a guy they said was the mayor of Redneck Hill," Lasseter said. "He said his name was "Mater." I said, "Excuse me?' He said, 'Mater. You know, like Toe-mater without the Toe.' They were the nicest people you'd ever want to meet. They're just glad you're here."

Sullivan, the economist, understands the concept, but he confesses he sometimes wrestles with the big picture.

"There's a certain charm to the Southern thing," Sullivan says, "but I wince when I see Confederate flags. I'm not sure if I sat down and talked to some of them that we would be friends."

People like us?

There's also the possibility that what is going on is less about race and more about the perception that wealthy professional athletes in traditional American sports have come to see themselves as rock stars.

ESPN Magazine, for example, is cutting edge in the world of sports but is definitely playing to a young, urban mentality. A recent cover story on Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick didn't show him throwing a pass or avoiding a tackle. Vick, by most accounts a pleasant and personable fellow, was decked out in black leather and heavy silver jewelry, standing in the dark street in front of a black Cadillac, practicing his rap star scowl.

That may be perfect for ESPN's youthful audience, but to the work-a-day daddy in the middle class, a picture like that - or the sight of an elaborately tattooed NBA player such as Allen Iverson - looks like a postcard from a parallel universe. Middle America had the same reaction when it saw those stoned, long-haired rock stars and hippie war protesters in the '70s. Who are these guys?

"In a lot of ways," says Sullivan, "it may be similar to what happened when the Fox News Network came out. People talked about how silly the stuff was and how other news networks were in more homes. But it may be that more Americans between the mountain ranges can identify with (combative conservative host) Bill O'Reilly than Connie Chung (on CNN). Maybe you have people saying, 'Hey, I like the president.' And the strong ratings reflect that."

There is also a school of thought that says the average fan is finding it harder and harder to identify with today's athletes physically.

"We have," says Page, "a collection of personalities that people can relate to. They don't seem to be genetic freaks."

The 370-pound football linemen, 7-foot-6 basketball centers and steroid- pumped home-run hitters look nothing like anyone the average couch potato has ever encountered. Meanwhile, NASCAR drivers look like the guy next door.

"Some of them are kind of portly old guys," says Lasseter. "There's a real cross section."

You can say that again. Until last year, Dave Marcis was driving in Winston Cup races while wearing wingtip shoes and two hearing aids. He retired last year at the age of 60. Cynics want to know how it can be a sport if someone in his 60s can do it, but the boosters say it is proof of its everyman appeal.

"None of us could hit a major-league fastball," says Sullivan, "but we all think we can drive. Now, the fact is, at those speeds most of us would probably lose our lunches, but we think we could do it."

"Some guy coming across the Golden Gate Bridge," says Humpy Wheeler, "is thinking, 'That guy that's on my bumper? What I really need to do is knock him off the bridge. That's what Dale Earnhardt would have done. And that's why I have that number 3 on my car.' "

"We drive Fords, Chevys, Pontiacs and Dodges," says Waltrip. "The cats in the stands probably drive one of those. So the race fan feels like he owns part of the product."

Actually, the race fan's car has about as much similarity to a NASCAR racer as a Boeing 737 does to a F-16 Hornet. Although NASCAR's unofficial motto has always been: Win on Sunday, sell on Monday, there's almost nothing from the showroom floor.

Experts say only the roof, hood and deck lid come from the factory. Everything else is custom built.

On one level, the fans know that. But there is no doubting that, take away the garish ads and paint, and that Chevy Tony Stewart drives still looks like the family car. So you have regular guys driving cars that appear to be right out of a suburban garage. No wonder there's a connection with the average fan.

Time for Fans

NASCAR racers have also taken the term "fan friendly" and turbo-charged it. There are two reasons. First, it's a tradition.

Back in the '70s, when Richard Petty was winning all the big races, he was almost pathologically cooperative. It was as if he couldn't help himself. "King Richard" would sign autographs until his fingers bled.

"He set the standard for the other drivers," Wheeler says, "especially Dale Earnhardt. Richard wanted to make damn sure Dale behaved the way he was supposed to. Petty was the consummate politician as far as the fans were concerned."

Petty was also the first to turn himself into a souvenir-selling machine. He sold T-shirts, coffee mugs, place mats, jackets and decals, turning the number 43 into a brand. In fact, to this day, retired and long past his racing prime, Petty sells products by the carload.

So do the drivers who followed him. At all the major races there are tractor-trailers set up as little supermarkets for each of the biggest stars. You can go to the Jeff Gordon trailer, for example, and find everything from expensive leather jackets to baseball caps, all with Gordon's No. 24 featured prominently.

Reporters walking through "gasoline alley" are likely to be approached by representatives who ask if they'd like to interview a driver. In most sports, it is usually the other way around: reporters asking for interviews - and often getting turned down.

In addition, it has only been in the past year that NASCAR has begun to restrict fan access to the pits. Until recently, fans with the right kind of tickets could wander up and stick their heads under the hood of their favorite racer's car. Imagine strolling into the 49ers' locker room before kickoff and asking Jeff Garcia for an autograph. In fact, try to find something like that in any other sport.

"I used to work for the A's," says Page, "and when we'd have a sponsor party, to get an athlete to walk across the hall to shake a few hands was like pulling teeth. There's a real lack of understanding about who pays the salary in team sports."

That confusion doesn't exist in NASCAR. If there is, drivers only need to look down at the patches on their driving suits to remind themselves of who is paying the freight.

"Racing has always been so totally shameless about sponsorship that it is refreshing in a way," says Infineon's Page. "It's an accepted part of it."

"That's a big difference in our sport," says Waltrip. "We are all sponsored.

We have to answer to somebody. Some arrogant athlete making $50 million, he doesn't care. He's going to the bank anyhow."

Honestly, if a truly devoted NASCAR fan can't get the autograph of his favorite driver, he's just not trying. Even the biggest stars pride themselves on pressing the flesh. Fans say hello to their favorite guy, stop by his trailer to buy a cap and then sit in the stands and cheer him to the finish line. At most races, you can even rent a scanner and listen to the unedited radio chatter between the car and the pit crew. Each Sunday fans sit down - either in the stands or in front of the TV - to follow their guy from race to race.

"NASCAR is kind of like a combination of the NFL and the PGA golf tour," says Lasseter. "Imagine a sport where all the NFL teams gather every week and there is just one winner."

Add that NASCAR careers can last 20 years or more, and that each appearance at a famous track like Daytona builds a sense of history and lore. The bond between a driver and his loyal fans is unlike that in any other sport.

Also, well... sometimes they die. Not that anyone actually goes to the races to see the wrecks or anything (wink, wink), but there is an unmistakable jolt to seeing men run cars doorhandle-to-doorhandle at 200 mph. NASCAR is deeply committed to safety - nobody doubts that - but don't forget that the biggest surge in popularity the sport ever had came after the death of Dale Earnhardt on Feb. 18, 2001. Other sports have stars. NASCAR has legends, living and dead.

When, for example, a black and white goat was born in Daytona Beach, Fla., with what looked like a white No. 3 (Earnhardt's car number) on its side, true believers flocked to see it.

"I've seen people take pictures and get tears in their eyes," said someone on the farm.

The next "Monday Night Football"?

I believe NASCAR is the only sport that could compete with [professional] football," president of NBC sports Dick Ebersol has said. "It's the only thing where the fans have the same level of passion. And they'll come in big numbers. "

Let's remember Ebersol is also the man who thought the XFL football league was going to be a runaway hit, but he looks right in this case. NASCAR is doing what no other sport has been able to manage in the modern age: Fill seats and deliver television ratings.

TV, of course, is where the real money is. With professional football jumping back and forth from network to network during the past few years, everyone was looking for an alternative.

The NBA was supposed to be the Next Big Thing, and it signed a TV contract with ABC, ESPN and TNT for six years at $4.6 billion. But the result was that, except for the NBA Finals, professional basketball has moved almost entirely to cable.

Part of the reason is that Sunday afternoon stock-car races routinely grab better ratings than the NBA. Actually, it's even worse than that. NBC NASCAR producer Sam Flood told a reporter last year that he was "amazed to find that ratings for Winston Cup rain delays outdraw the NBA." They'd rather watch a rain delay than the NBA? There's some bad news for Kobe Bryant.

What's so appealing? The electronics for the shows are provided by a company called Sportvision, and when the CEO, Bill Squadron, says the technology "is more advanced in NASCAR than any other sport," he's putting it mildly.

"They have taken that little old race car out there," says Wheeler, "and brought it right into your living room."

There are cameras in the cars that show the drivers, cameras that look out the front windshield, and in some night races, cameras on the wheels so we can see the brakes glow red-hot. Why don't they do something like that in other sports?

"Because we can put a 10-pound box in a race car," Squadron has said. "We can't put one on a human being."

"We have 43 cars in a race," says Waltrip, "and my dream is to have a camera in every car. This is just the tip of the iceberg."

You can tease Humpy Wheeler for his nickname, but no one ever said he isn't thinking way ahead. After all, he says, the broadcast is starting to look like a big video game anyhow.

"The next big breakthrough will happen in the next decade," Wheeler says. "Some person sitting in San Rafael will be sitting in front of his TV when the 600 in Charlotte comes on. He'll pay $19.95 and race the race himself. We'll simply take the existing telecast and take it to virtual reality."

Remember, Humpy predicts that will happen in the next 10 years. Suppose you asked him to project further into the future?

"This is simply the embryonic beginning of a new kind of sport," Wheeler says. "One hundred years from now, they are going to say this was the start of the time when man and machine came together in sports. Not an athlete, a mech- alete."

Oh, come on, Humpy. Isn't that a little far-fetched?

"I do remember a 'Jetsons' episode when they had robots playing football," jokes Sullivan.

Wheeler only smiles. Ten years ago, he reminds us, NASCAR wasn't even a factor on the sports scene. Just 150 years ago, he likes to point out, "Dr. James Naismith had not even hung the first peach basket" in Springfield, Mass.,

to invent the game of basketball.

Who are the new fans of NASCAR? Wheeler says he thinks he met one of them last year, the 7-year-old son of one of his sponsors. The boy had never seen a NASCAR race in person, although he had played lots of racing video games and watched on TV.

There was a wreck, and when the cars stopped spinning and the smoke cleared,